Healed
by em-asterope
Summary: Hermione Granger has become a very gifted Healer, but things change drastically when a certain Malfoy heir becomes her patient. Post-Hogwarts.
1. Anniversary

**Hey guys! This is my first fanfic so go easy on me. I know that it's pretty short compared to a lot but I think that the later chapter will be much longer. Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Also, if you liked it, spread the word! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy. xx**

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It had been exactly two years since the end of the Second Wizarding War.

Draco noted this fact grimly as he sat in a small, usually unnoticed shop on the southern side of Diagon Alley. The unnaturally tanned hand that absentmindedly toyed with the handle of the glass of Firewhiskey was foreign to him. He despised the disgusting dark color of his hair and the muddy, brown color of his eyes. As the frumpy waitress replaced his empty cup with a full one, Draco idly rubbed the many hairs framing his face and contemplated the events that had deemed the necessity of his irksome disguise.

Just before Voldemort fell, his father and mother had fled as quickly as possible and went straight into hiding. They knew that, regardless of who won the war, they were not safe. If Voldemort won, they would face his merciless wrath. If Voldemort lost, they knew they would be hunted endlessly by the Aurors. They could not and would not decide which fate was worse.

They had no contact with the outside world for nine tense days following the Battle of Hogwarts. On the ninth night, Narcissa cast a disillusionment charm upon herself and stole off into the dead of the night to scrap any piece of information she could find. She returned with a two day old copy of _The Daily Prophet_ with a headline that read "One week since the fall of the Dark Lord, yet things are far from normal." They all knew that this meant there was already a cell in Azkaban with the Malfoy name stamped on it. Draco eyed his father closely as his mother belayed the details back to them, and watched helplessly as his father's glossy eyes slowly turned to stone.

Three days later, he was gone.

Lucius Malfoy had always been an exceedingly prideful man, and being forced to live in hiding and shame had quickly taken its toll on the domineering Malfoy. He had always lived an audacious and superior life and change was not something he welcomed with ease. Although Draco noted the changes with great concern and frustration of his own, he would never have imagined that his father would abandon them.

Draco had not been allowed to feel anything at the time. The sting of abandonment struck him hard but with the Aurors blazing down their trail, he and his mother had been allotted no time to grieve. Constant vigilance, isn't that what that bloody mad Professor back at Hogwarts used to say? Draco chuckled darkly to himself, remembering the completely apeshit Professor with surprisingly good memory, given all the events that had occurred between now and then.

Were it not for his tactful mother, Draco felt sure that he would either be surrounded by the walls of Azkaban or dead. His mother had gradually but effectively led them home within what had seemed to be a few months. Narcissa had then appeared before the Wizengamot to plead innocence on behalf of her and her son. With Lucius now completely out of the picture, it was much easier to convince the witches and warlocks of the man's controlling nature and their unwillingness to partake in his evil doings. With a grand donation by the heiress, an agreement to be placed under a mild Trace and a Vow to turn any information regarding the whereabouts of the missing Malfoy over to the the Ministry, the officials had reached the verdict of not guilty.

Though Narcissa and her son were now safe from the Ministry and imprisonment, nothing could shield them from the bile and hate that remained from the war on both sides. Although it had been 4 months since the end of the war, both Draco and his mother knew that neither dark nor light side would be as forgiving as the courts. Even now, on the two year anniversary of pathetic Potter's victory, Draco could still not show his striking and pale face in public without instant recognition enveloping the faces around him.

It was for this reason that Draco sat in a quiet shop looking nothing like himself. His mother had requested that he pick up a few items for the Manor, and although begrudgingly, Draco had complied. It was the least he could do. Although he was not a compassionate man, he could not deny that his mother had kept him anchored throughout the most horrendous part of his life.

On his way to the décor shop, Draco had stopped in this little bar, which he now vaguely remembered was named _Agstas. _While reminiscing on his haunted past, Draco had emptied his second glass of Firewhiskey. He decided that he should probably head to the shop now if he wanted to return home before the sun was completely gone. As he neared the door he waved his Hawthorne wand to conjure a few sickles that glided towards the bartender.

The heavily disguised Malfoy heir stepped out into the bitter wind and instantly wrapped his dark robes around him more tightly. He sensed a wrongness in the air about him but nevertheless kept his head forward and his eyes on his destination which was no more than 30 steps from him. While he was fighting his way through the thick crowd, Draco heard the bell of the décor shop ding as a customer exited. The dark haired man who had just left the shop kept his head bowed down as far as it could go, and just as he turned his back to Draco, conjured a familiar looking mask over his suspicious face.

A fleeting moment of recognition struck Draco for barely a moment and the entire alley was quiet for no less then a second before the chorus of explosions instigated around him, bodies flying in every direction. Draco's frightened eyes searched everywhere for the masked man who must have been the cause of this chaos before darkness swallowed him whole.

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_May 2, 2000._

Hermione sat resting her head in her palm and her elbow on her desk staring blankly at the date on the calendar.

Exactly two years since the end of the war and yet things still were not back to normal. She had a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach that it would take many years before the terrors of Voldemort's reign were forgotten from the minds of the Wizarding community. It definitely would not fade from hers anytime soon.

Although the attacks and crimes had diminished greatly since Voldemort had fallen, there were still many patients to look after. The fourth floor was always the busiest which is why Hermione liked it best. The rare moments when all of the current patients were content and no one was popping in with a missing eyeball or an irreversible jelly-legs jinx were close to torture for her. She was the kind of person who had to be doing something productive at all times to feel useful.

There was always the paperwork to do. The moment this thought entered this head she snapped out of her trance and immediately set to work filling out patient charts and reports and filling them accordingly. She immediately shifted into studious Hermione and went over every piece of work thrice.

After filing a couple of papers she fell into a routine so familiar that it required minimal thinking. Although she tried to stay focused, it was to no avail. Her mind wandered into the past as she wrote furiously.

After their immense victory, Hermione had naturally been beside herself with happiness and elation. Despite the devastating casualties they had suffered, there was a world to look forward to. Her misconceptions of the future lasted mere months before she realized that the prejudicial ways of the wizarding world were far from abolished. Although there was certainly more hope, Muggles and Muggle-borns continued to be attacked and demoralized.

These attacks are what first led to her interest as a Healer. Although she had briefly considered becoming an Auror, she had decided that she had seen enough dark magic to last one thousand lifetimes. The brilliant Muggle-born decided that the Healing position offered a satisfying balance between directly helping others and managing paperwork, which she had always had a knack for.

Hermione was fairly positive that she could have completed training with flying marks without her last year of education but nonetheless decided that it was something she needed to do for herself. Ron and Harry had begrudgingly accompanied her. Mrs. Weasley had encouraged them all to go back, insisting that school was the quickest way to move forward, away from the dark years that they had endured.

Many student had not returned to Hogwarts, anda the school was eerily empty throughout the school year. Although not unexpected, the absence of Draco Malfoy, all of his cronies and their relentless teasing had left an irrational hollowness in her chest, however glad she was that they were gone to who knows where. The Golden Trio completed their final year at Hogwarts, Hermione with top marks as always, and Ron and Harry surprisingly close behind.

Hermione and Ron's short-lived romance during the battle was exactly that – short-lived. The end of the war brought about a great change between the friends and although she would always love Ron she knew that they would never be successful as a couple. Especially not now that Ron had taken a fancy to none other than Romilda Vane. However happy Hermione was for Ron that he had found someone who could handle him properly, she had a hard time removing the gorgeous and assertive woman from her memory.

Harry picked things back up with Ginny shortly after the finish of the war and headed to Auror training while she completed her final year. Ron, on a whim, decided to join Harry in training, which would never have been possible without the invitation from Shacklebolt to everyone who participated in the war. And Hermione, sensing a small wound to the Trio, quietly slipped off to St. Mungo's.

Her train of thought crashed immediately with the sound of people apparating all around her. Within a few moments Hermione and the other fourth floor Healers were surrounded by hundreds of limbless, bloody, crying, cold bodies. There was a moment's pause before Hermione slipped into action.


	2. Chaos

Draco was standing in the middle of a field.

Before and behind him stood three humongous goal posts, and mere feet from him stood a lovely woman with her back to him. The sun was rising on the horizon behind her and it turned the brown curls that cascaded down her back golden. A purple sundress that went to her knees clung to her small frame, leaving her lightly tanned legs exposed.

Draco ached for her, longed to close the space between them and embrace her but he was frozen as if petrified. A sense of recognition bubbled in the closet of Draco's subconscious but he did not know that he knew who the girl was.

He studied what he could of her for what seemed to be hours. The longing that was coursing through his veins only intensified as he memorized the curve of her body, the bend of her legs, the color of her skin. The girl remained planted in her spot throughout Draco's inspection, only moving when she shifted her weight every couple of minutes. Draco's heart seemed to melt every time she let out an audible sigh.

The girl began to shift her body as if she was turning around after hours of longing. A sense of anticipation and excitement boiled in Draco's chest as he awaited to see her face. Just as her profile came into view, however, a deep and brooding voice shouted his name from behind.

Draco whirled around to identify the voice and his eyes fell immediately onto the long, blonde hair of his father, shadowed by the dark sky in the background. The moment he recognized his father, two large and never-ending walls fell on either side of him. His father's face remained indifferent and proper as Draco began to worry.

The walls were made out of an odd substance like gel that was clear yet opaque. Draco could see the outline of the world surrounding him but could not view it properly. This would not have worried him had the mysterious girl not been on the other side of the wall. Draco put both of his hands to the wall on either sides of his face as the girl mirrored him. They were so dreadfully close but so painstakingly far away from one another. This tore at his insides and he began scraping and clawing at the wall, trying to break through.

Draco wrestled with the wall forcefully for a couple of moments, and just as his hand was about to reach through the flimsy substance he felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew that it was his father but felt the need to turn anyway. A disapproving snarl had replaced the indifference on Lucius' face although he spoke not. Draco hastily turned his attention back to the wall only to find that it was no longer a gel, but a liquid. A deep red had also replaced the clarity, murdering his blurred view of her.

The wall of liquid began oozing just then and with a startling gasp Draco realized that it was blood. Before he could step away, however, he awoke with a start.

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The fourth floor was in absolute chaos. Hermione looked to her left and saw a married couple covered in blood cradling one another. Behind her was a father holding his unconscious daughter. Although Hermione's heart seemed to break as she beheld these sights her determination ceased not.

She whipped out her vine wood wand and began conjuring cots wherever space allowed. She then proceeded to levitate each victim she came across who did not seem to have a major injury off of the ground and onto the cots, allowing more space to move around. As shouts, screams and yells sustained around her, Hermione found herself trying harder than ever to stay focused.

Hermione treated the more fatal looking wounds that she came across immediately, and once the patient was stable she moved on to the next. Within an hour she felt sure that she had summoned at least a dozen bottles of various healing and sleeping potions, as well as performed innumerous spells. The pandemonium surrounding her had not allowed time for Hermione to communicate with any other Healers lest the brief and confused glances she had exchanged with a few of her colleagues counted.

Now that most of the victims had been tended to the noise had decrescendoed into the occasional yell of agony and the more frequent soft groans that emerged from the unconscious patients' lips, Hermione set off to find Penelope Clearwater, the head Medi-Witch of the fourth floor, in hopes that she carried answers.

It did not take long to find the dark-haired witch as she was buzzing through the floor checking on various patients, writing down their information and handing out orders as Healers approached her. She was scribbling something onto parchment as Hermione neared her but looked up when she sensed a presence.

"Oh good, Hermione, I've just been searching for you. We've been transferring the less severe cases to Pomfrey at Hogwarts due to lack of space but you have been assigned to the patients in rooms 416-424. All of their charts and everything they need for the time being is in their rooms." 

As Clearwater relayed the information she continued her previous work, and Hermione followed her around dutifully while paying close attention to every word spoken. When it seemed the witch was finished speaking, Hermione verbalized the question that had been floating through her mind for the last hour.

"Of course. Can you perhaps clarify on what exactly hap-"

"There was an attack in Diagon Alley. Five former Death Eaters but they don't know who," stated Penelope generally as if she had already been asked half a million times.

It was vague but Hermione knew that Penelope was busy and decided that she could seek details elsewhere once she had completed her tasks.

"Thank you, Penelope. Good luck," she added hastily as Penelope shuffled off once more. Hermione made her way out of the main room in which she stood, weaving her way through the cots, Healers and concerned family members towards the private rooms that had been reserved for the more... wealthy patients.

Hermione silently recited the information given to her by Penelope in her mind as she made her way towards room 416. A name had been carelessly written on the door with a hasty spell but she did not pause to read it, and instead walked directly to the back to remove the patient's chart from the wall.

The patient, _Herbert_ according to the chart, was in a deep sleep on the twin-sized bed placed in the middle of the room and an assortment of potions sat on the nightstand beside the bed. He looked to be around sixty years old but Hermione could not be certain because of the various injuries on his face. There was a couple of small burns around his neck that glimmered with previously applied potion, a few cuts and a swollen eye. His left arm was wrapped in white cloth and the older wizard twitched in pain every couple of seconds. Hermione assumed that he had a few internal injuries as well.

The young Medi-witch read quickly through the Herbert's chart, instantly committing to memory his injuries, when and how they had been treated as well as his medical background. She then re-dressed his wounds, applied new potions and ointments and replenished the ones remaining on the bedstand. Herbert remained asleep through all this and a gentle grin slipped onto Hermione's face as she looked down on the sleeping man. She stood in the position for not more than a few moments before the door burst open and a woman about his age with greying hair bustled in towards him, tears brimming her eyes.

"Oh, Herbert!" she said simply and Hermione quickly exited the room to allow the married couple some privacy.

After exiting room 411, Hermione slowly made her way through the room of each and every patient, addressing each of their unique injuries and illnesses specifically. Most were asleep, although a few remained awake and attempted light conversation with her through their occasional grimaces of pain.

Exhaust did not greet Hermione until she had finished attending to the patient in room 423. She had been an hour away from the end of her 12-hour shift when the victims began flooding the wing and now, four hours later, she was still here. The Healer only hoped that her last patient's injuries didn't require too much attention.

Hermione lightly rapped her knuckles against the door to make sure that the patient was asleep. When no reply was heard, she took her last sane step and then froze in the doorway as her eyes fell upon the patient and his platinum blonde hair.

Now that his disguise and faded completely Hermione recognized Draco Malfoy instantaneously. His pale skin, thin yet full lips and smooth face wreaked of gentility despite the fact that it was bruised and cut. Although he slept, it was not a relaxed sleep. Every few seconds his face would tense up with furrowed eyebrows and a creased forehead. His face stayed troubled like this for no more than a few moments before it relaxed once more. Hermione had the strange sense that he was dreaming.

By the time she had finished observing him the initial shock of the reappearance of her old nemesis and classmate had worn off and reality snuck back upon her. Draco's left leg and arm were wrapped in thick white material and what she could see of his chest was bare. She assumed that this meant he had some sort of injury there, but would not know completely until she examined his chart, which required moving. Towards him. But really, why should she? What did she owe the creature who did not approve of her existence? who ridiculed her and her friends every chance he got? who nearly killed Dumbledore? whose family was always at the right hand of the Dark Lord before his demise?

She had just settled on the decision to return to Penelope and request another Healer be assigned to the pureblood when, with a sudden jerk, Draco awoke. His breathing was heavy and tainted with worry as his eyes frantically searched the room. He did not know where he was, he did not know what had happened, he did not know why it hurt to breath. Draco very much disliked not knowing, for it made him feel insufferably vulnerable. He was filled with a longing leftover from his dream, but as the dream had momentarily escaped his mind and he remembered none of it, this only left him feeling more confused and therefore angry. It took him nearly a minute to notice her. By that time his breathing was nearly back to a normal pace, and a snarl of disgust replaced his previous confusion.

He lowered his head a few inches after a few seconds of charged silence. "You," he growled with a clenched jaw. It was impossible to misinterpret his attitude with such vividly negative body language. Hermione's bushy eyebrows furrowed instantly and her mouth parted in outrage and shock. She opened her mouth wider to retort but found her throat constricted by anger. Before she could do anything rash she turned indignantly and stormed out of the room.

The pig! Or maybe ferret was a more adequate word. How dare he speak to her as if they were still in school, as if they were still teenagers, as if the Light had not won the war. The good had won, didn't that mean that everything should be right again? Hermione desperately wished that this is how things would be, that everyone's previously skewed ideals and beliefs had automatically transformed with the victory. It was for this reason that she loathed Draco. His sudden appearance and attitude made it nearly impossible for Hermione to deny that things hadn't changed much at all.

Hermione thought all this as she tore her way back to the main room to search for Penelope, still fuming with anger. It was nearly one in the morning by now and most of the patients were tended too and asleep, so Hermione assumed that Penelope was managing things from her office for the time being. Her assumption was correct and she found Penelope sitting at her desk, scattered with papers, scrawling something onto a piece of parchment.

"Penelope -" she started, but Penelope, not looking up to her and still writing furiously, cut her off before she could continue.

"I assume you have discovered Mr. Malfoy and are requesting that a different Healer be assigned to him? See here, Hermione, I know that you two had your differences at Hogwarts but that was over two years ago and it's in the past, a separate world." She dramatically dotted the period at the end of the sentence she had just finished writing, set down the quill, and looked up at Hermione.

"The fourth floor is completely filled and I need everyone doing as much as they possibly can for the next couple of weeks. You are a brilliant person, witch and Healer and I know that you are more than capable of doing this."

With that, she picked her quill up once more and continued writing. Hermione remained in the doorway for a couple of seconds, prepared to make a well-reasoned argument but Penelope had already busied herself once more with the paperwork.

Hermione bustled out of the room and made her way out of the office, through the main room and to the entrance of the hall containing private rooms number _400-449_. Her anger had momentarily subsided. She paused there, turned her back to the wall and rested the back of her head against it for a few moments. Her eyes closed and her head swam with thoughts that she could not sort out. With a deep and weighted breath she pushed herself off the wall and, very slowly, began making her way back to room 424.

This was going to be an interesting couple of weeks.


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